


the judge is on vinyl, decisions are final and nobody gets a reprieve

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Businessman Harry, Gen, Harry Needs a Hug, Heavy Angst, Liam is a Good Friend, M/M, Past Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Sad Harry, a shitty description of the psychic, and choppy details, enjoy, there's also a psychic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Underneath his blankets, he feels heat climb up his feet, his legs, and then his face, it’s so hot he can feel his brain spinning. His heart is pounding so hard he hurts. And then his eyes are wet, his cheeks. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t speak. This is quite nearly nothing.</p><p>(Or, Louis has been dead for a year and emotions can only be described as nothing or absolutely everything).</p>
            </blockquote>





	the judge is on vinyl, decisions are final and nobody gets a reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> TW: slight panic attacks, and a little bit of hysteria.  
> DISCLAIMER: i don't own harry or any of the characters mentioned (except the two i made up) blah blah blah

There are feelings in the world that can’t be explained and there are feelings that do not deserve even the attempt. For instance, can anyone really explain how it feels to be called out on something? To be confronted with your own faults? You get warm, flushed maybe, and you’re caught off guard but what about the things you’re thinking and how it feels on your insides? To know you’ve been caught. Can’t quite be described. But the feeling of losing someone; the feeling of your heart vanishing from your chest, your rib cage suddenly protecting nothing but your failing lungs and air. Poisoned air. That  _ urge  _ you get to fall to your knees and you’re thinking nothing - maybe your brain is gone too. You can’t cry because crying requires a heart to feel and a brain to register and so for a second… You’re gone too. You’re gone.

That is a feeling that does not deserve an explanation. The feeling of nothing deserves to  _ be  _ nothing. Gone. 

It sits in Harry’s throat, threatening to crawl up. He swallows it.

It’s rather cold in the café, cold for a place that’s brewing scalding cups of energy for the exhausted. For people like Harry. 

And it’s not that he minds the cold. He doesn’t. Niall’s bugging him for his jacket though, and his sleeves are the only thing protecting his hands from the possible third degree burns he could get from the paper cup he’s holding. 

Harry tries his best to block out the sound of his friend’s whines after he tells him ‘no’ the second time. They take a seat. The café is crowded, swarming with people on their way to work and people on first dates. He takes a sip of his coffee. 

Niall pokes Harry’s shoulder. “Hey.” Harry looks at him, the scent of hazelnut and Irish crème wafting up to him. He hates hazelnut. As he waits for Niall to continue, he wonders why he picked hazelnut coffee. He takes a big gulp. “What time do you have to get back to work?” 

Harry shrugs. “W’time is it?”

“‘Bout half past 11.”

“45 minutes, maybe.” Harry says.

Niall nods, blows on the lid of his drink and sits back in his chair. “I was thinking we could take a walk? Probably warmer outside than in here.” Harry chuckles. “And the snow is new, the city is beautiful.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, let’s walk a few blocks, Ni.” 

The blond boy flashes a small smile at him and pushes himself away from the table, eager to get outside. Harry slowly stands and quietly hisses as hot liquid splashes out of his cup and falls on to his fingers. He watches as it drips to the floor and then licks his knuckles, following Niall to the exit. 

It all happens quickly, Harry doesn’t really realize what’s going on until it’s slapping him in the face. There’s a couple bickering to the right of them as they walk, and it’s not subtle. They’re trying to whisper but their words come out even angrier than they’re probably meant to be. And then a woman,  _ the  _ woman, one half of that couple, is walking towards them, Harry and Niall. She’s smiling but her eyes look a little sad. Like she’s stressed, like she hasn’t slept in  _ days _ . 

The woman’s hair is poofy, like, wide, frizzy, and it’s dyed jet black. It makes Harry’s shiver. Her eyes are narrow and bright blue.  _ Electric _ blue. 

She’s standing in front of Harry, holding her hand out. He shakes her hand, brows furrowed. She smiles. “Hi, I’m sorry if I’m interrupting something.” She’s still holding his hand. 

Harry looks at Niall, who trips over his words. “Uh, no, no, we just. No?” 

She chuckles and then pats Harry palm and lets go. “I’m just - I’m Erela, I’m a psychic medium. I can talk to people that have left our world and gone to the other side, another side. ” Harry’s eyes go wide and he steps back, skeptical. He’s never really believed in anything spiritual; ghosts, angels, God, the Devil. He’s not even sure that souls exist. Is this some kind of joke?

Erela is stumbling, trying to get the words but she’s coughing, rubbing her chest and neck. “You look worried.” She says. “I know this is odd but will you let me speak to you? I just need to communicate this.” 

Niall touches Harry’s shoulder softly and rubs his back and then it clicks. Harry pushes himself closer to Niall and lets out a shaky breath and this has  _ got  _ to be some kind of sick fucking joke. There’s no way,  _ nowaynowaynoway.  _

Harry nods. “You can speak.” 

Erela breathes deeply, eyes shut tight and she massages her throat. “I’m feeling - feeling a male spirit, a, a husband or a very good friend. I feel a very deep love, an unexplainable love. I’m feeling restricted, my throat is tight, I can’t breathe. Died of throat something, something to the airway.” 

Niall’s fingers are digging into Harry’s coat. Harry clenches his jaw. “Louis? My - my boyfriend.” 

Erela smiles, nods, and let’s the grip on her throat loosen, but she’s still trying to clear it. “Good, good.”

Harry eyes her reddening skin and starts hesitantly, not sure if anything he says is going to help her, but a voice in the back of his head is saying that it might help him. Maybe saying it out loud, letting it be  _ real  _ will help him. “He,” Pause. He doesn’t know if he can do this. “It was a car accident.” He can do this. “He and a couple of his friends were driving, probably too fast, and they…” Pause. Gulp. Reach for Niall’s hand. “They hit a tree head on, and the seat belt,” Pause. Squeeze Niall’s hand. Blink back tears. “It didn’t… decapitate ‘im. But it went pretty- it went pretty deep. Before they found him, he was gone.” And Harry wasn’t there. 

Erela takes a big gulp of air and sighs it out, thanking someone, something in the midst. And then she looks up at Harry with still tired, but kind eyes and says, “Do you have something of his? Something that you wear, a ring, a jumper?” 

Harry thinks for a moment, pats around on himself with his free hand and then shakes his head. “No, no.” And then he realizes. How would she…? “But I, I wear his clothes… When I’m at home, I’ve got all of his stuff. Wear it sometimes.” 

There are things that someone just  _ wouldn’t  _ know. There are things that this woman couldn’t possibly figure out but here she is,  _ telling  _ him about his personal life and he’s got tears in his eyes and he’s squeezing Niall’s hand  _ sososo  _ tight because, is Louis here? Is Louis trying to talk to him? Does the afterlife exist? He’s going to vomit. She’s talking but he can’t really hear her, he can’t breathe, it’s like it’s all happening to him all over again and he just wants to feel better. Why can’t he just feel better? He can’t do this. 

“He wants you to know that he’s safe, and he’s okay. He’s got no scars, no injuries where he is, he’s not in pain or trouble.” And Harry sobs because that’s all he’s ever wanted. “He’s completely free.” She says. 

Beside Harry, Niall’s eyes are puffy and red and there are dried tears on his cheeks. He lets out a wet cough. Or a laugh, maybe. “What a bastard, Louis is. Having one of the most normal days we’ve had in awhile and he bombards us with his happy shit.” 

Harry laughs, because, yeah, that is Louis. What a bastard, he is. 

Erela touches Harry’s arm again, smiling softly. Her fingertips are chilly. “When you wear his things, when you’re thinking about him, or talking about- to him…” She gives Harry the minute he needs to catch his breath, wipe his cheeks. He’s all snotty and gross. “He’s with you. Those chills aren’t coincidence. He’s watching over you. Always.” _.  _

Harry closes his eyes and he can see Louis. 

He can see Louis underneath him in bed, laughing and clutching his side, kicking Harry’s shins to get him off. “ _Harry it’s only 7AM! Will you let me sleep?_ ” And when Harry’s gone he’s rolling on his stomach and groaning, flipping the bird because “ _I’m wide awake now, you twat._ ” 

He can see Louis dancing around the living room to his favorite song of the week with his hands in the air and his too-long fringe sticking to his forehead with sweat. When Harry catches him, he pouts and pauses the music and pretends to dust the telly screen with his sweater sleeve. 

And he can see Louis crying, knees up to his chest and face in his hands and he remembers what it’s like to hear Louis struggle to croak out more than two syllables at a time. He can see Louis shaking his head and pushing Harry away because “ _ no one can see me like this, don’t you get it? _ ” 

Harry hopes Erela means it when she says free… Free to feel, free to be.

Harry runs his tongue over his teeth. In the hand that’s not been killing off Niall’s he’s still got his coffee, probably cooled down but actually burning his palm. He let’s go of Niall and switches his hold on the cup. “Thank you.” He says, but it comes at as more of a murmur. He swallows air. “Thank you.” He says more clearly. 

Erela smiles half-heartedly and leans forward to rub both of their backs, a loose hug. “You’re welcome. I hope you can take this and make it into something that will turn your life around in a positive way. He’s gone but he’s always here, love.” 

Harry just nods. “Thank you.” 

Niall shakes the otherworldly woman’s hand. “It was so nice meeting you. This has been a truly amazing experience.” 

She nods solemnly and looks at Harry for a second before finally walking away.

It’s quiet for a few moments, like there’s a calm sea between the two of them. Harry can feel his breath as it flows between his teeth and down his throat, pooling in his stomach. His blood pulses in his fingertips. It takes every ounce of consciousness he has not to drop his coffee. He can hear Niall shuffling his feet.

“Mate, we don’t have to take a walk, if you don’t want to…” 

Harry kind of laughs. Niall’s such a small person, always afraid to mess up or hurt someone else. “Yeah,” He clears his throat and pats Niall’s shoulder. “I think I’m just going to head back to the office, if that’s alright.” 

“Raincheck on the walk.” Niall puts his thumb up. 

On his way out, Harry drops his coffee in the trash. 

He’s a bank branch manager. He takes care of everyone. Hires people, trains people, checks on employees as often as possible. He opens at noon and closes at night and Harry  _ loves  _ his job, really, he does. But they get some of the  _ snobbiest  _ people. A lot of trust is also bestowed on him, sometimes it can be pressure. But his job is what kept him distracted when Louis… 

When Harry arrives, he half expects the offices to be swarming with people; it felt like he was standing in the cafe for hours. But of course, it’s empty, only the light from the sun shining in for him to the see the desks, chairs, computers, etc… The interior of this building is beautiful, breathtaking. When Harry first started working here, it took everything he had not to touch absolutely everything. A few times, Louis came at the end of the day and sprawled out on the couches and just scrolled on his phone. A few times, Louis fell asleep. 

The nothing scratches in Harry’s esophagus. He holds his chest as he coughs it down, scraping his tongue with his teeth and swallowing. He sits down on the couch and for a moment… Can he smell Louis? It’s gone before he can decide; his whole body aches. He leans back and sucks in a breath. 

 

“Harry?” His body shakes. “Harry, mate? Are you tired, do you want to take the day off?” Harry’s eyes flutter open to reveal Liam leaning over him, a hand on his shoulder. His face softens once he notices that the man below him is awake. “Hey.” 

Liam, while dealing with clients of his own, was the only person besides Harry in the building with access to lockbox combinations. He keeps them in a safe and private file on his computer and frequently checks in with security. He’s probably better at the job than Harry ever was. 

Harry groans, slightly confused and hosting a massive headache. “Hi.” He mutters, pushing himself up. “Wha- what time is it?” 

“12.” Liam smiles. “I came in a bit early to finish up some papers at my desk. You look exhausted, H. Do you want to go home? I can watch out for today ” 

Liam’s empathy makes Harry’s heart warm. He’s such a gentle guy, ready to take on whatever life throws at him, ready to take care of everyone and everything around him. There’s an ongoing joke in the building that Liam would wash everyone’s socks by hand if he was told it meant something to them. He must’ve been a passionate nanny in his past lives. 

Harry shakes his head. “No, no, Li. I’m fine, thank you.” 

“Are you sure? You fell asleep in the middle of the morning.” 

“Yeah,” Harry stands, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “Just had a rough morning, s’all. I’ll make it through.” Liam opens his mouth to say something. “Really, Liam. Go finish your work, we open soon.” 

Liam gives a short nod and walks away. 

 

One by one for the next twenty minutes, people file in in suits and dresses, hair combed and up, ready to take on the day. Harry watches them, trying to take their energy and use it for himself. He smiles at everyone and jumps into pre-work conversations. 

The minute hand hits six and there’s a car pulling up to the sidewalk. Suddenly all Harry can think about is money and boxes and clients. He hurries down the hallway to his office and not three minutes after he sits, Ms. Holland walks in. 

Ms. Holland is a 90-something year old woman with one daughter, no grandchildren, no husband, and too much money. She comes in to check on her things nearly every day, and sometimes even just to talk to everyone. There was one time she made peanut butter cookies and nobody could pass them up, not even Iona, the receptionist in the lobby with a peanut allergy.

The sight of her makes Harry smile. He stands up with his hand out. “Hello, Ms. Holland. How are you today?” 

The woman holds his hand in her’s for a moment. “I’m well, darling, thank you. Lana stopped by this morning, made tea for me. She’s got a new friend, you know. She showed me pictures on her mobile phone. He’s very handsome.” She smiles wide, proud that she’s still got a connection with her daughter. He’s seen that smile on his mother’s face, and it in return, has always made him proud. Harry has heard about Lana, Ms. Holland’s daughter so many times, he sometimes wonders if he’ll ever get to meet her. 

“That sounds  _ wonderful _ . What can we do for you today?”

“Well,” Ms. Holland sighs. “I’m getting- I’m old, you know.” Harry’s heart sinks. “I’ve so many things in my storage that I’m never going to be able to use again. I have my old wedding ring in there, and I think I might show it to Lana. Maybe if she likes it, she’ll wear it, but if not, I should know now what I’m going to do with it.” 

Harry nearly has to choke back tears, a sudden realization about how  _ aware _ this woman is about everything around her. It’s hard to take that in, to see the world, to experience life through someone else’s eyes. He wants her to take that back. “Right this way, ma’am.” He wonders what it’s like to be expecting your own end. 

The old woman hums as they walk down the hallway. Her voice cracks but it’s  _ soft _ and she nods her head along. Harry holds his breath in fear of interrupting her song. He holds his hand out as a permanent wave as they pass offices and clients. He sees a few new faces and makes a mental note to ask Liam about them later. 

When they arrive at Ms. Holland’s lock box, she smiles gently at him until he turns around. Rightfully, she’s always been cautious about her combinations; even with the bank employees. He can hear how shaky her breathing is as she turns the dial, and the loud sigh when it clicks open. He turns back around to see her smiling wide at all the things she can see. “She’ll like this, I think, Mr. Styles.” She gushes, holding the small ring between her fingers. “My daughter’s an old soul, she appreciates antiques. She’ll like this.” 

 

There’s dirt under Harry’s fingernails and it’s cold. His thermostat says 18. A rerun of  _ The Young and the Restless  _ is playing on the television, but he’s got his eyes closed and his head nearly buried beneath his blankets. When he got home, Harry made himself a cup of tea only to throw it up two hours later. His chest, somehow, felt hollow but full of rocks at the same time, and the feeling of nothing burned his throat. This time, Harry couldn’t swallow. 

Underneath his blankets, he feels heat climb up his feet, his legs, and then his face, it’s so hot he can feel his brain spinning. His heart is pounding so hard he hurts. And then his eyes are wet, his cheeks. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t speak. This is quite nearly nothing.

Harry throws his blankets to the other side of the bed and swings his legs over.. One, two, three deep breaths and he’s up, walking across the room to open their closet door. Everything Louis own _ ed  _ sits in boxes, organized neatly like they’ve just been packed up to move. Shirts in one, jeans in another. Louis somehow always found the comfiest sweaters you could imagine. They were always so soft, as if made from the rarest furs (of course they weren’t. If there was one thing Louis believed strongly in, it was animal rights). 

So Harry picks up the pair of scissors from the top shelf and slices through the layer of tape used to seal the box. He doesn’t know which layer it is, he’s resealed this box so many times; out of guilt, out of anger… They’re all clumped together now, with dust tinting them brown and fuzz poking out of their edges. It makes his stomach turn. 

It’s the bottom sweater he’s looking for. The bottom sweater because each time, before he reseals this box, he places it there in hopes that next time he’ll forget, or next time he’ll be too tired, or next time he’ll see it at the bottom, wrinkled and in the dark and he just  _ won’t  _ care anymore. But he never forgets, he’s never too tired, and he always cares. 

The sweater is faux wool, each thread a different shade of blue. It wasn’t his softest sweater but Louis lived in it. Even during warmer weather, he used every excuse he could to get to it. (Harry thinks it probably made him feel safe when nothing else could. Louis had a lot about himself that he left in the dark, away from so many people. Even Harry.) He practically swam in it, he was so small, but it always put him in the mood for cuddling which was a-okay with Harry. 

It doesn’t smell like Louis anymore. It smells like damp cardboard and old. Almost nothing. It’s smells like Harry is hopeful but tired, like he’s feeding off of “what ifs” and as a consequence, starving. He pulls the jumper over his head and hugs himself in it, pulling the sleeves over his fingertips.  _ Warmth _ , but not nothing. 

It’s  _ everything  _ warmth; it’s finding his soulmate half asleep on the couch with a bowl of cereal every Sunday morning; it’s rolling over during the night to an unexpected kiss, unexpected touch, unexpected more, unexpected most; it’s watching Louis live, touch, see, breathe, smell, hear, laugh, it’s  _ everything  _ warmth that, for a second, makes him want to believe what he’s heard today. He’s going to believe. 

His feet carry him to the living room, everything around him black and dead. But he finds his way to the couch and curls up as small as he can and listens to himself breathe. How is anyone supposed to start this? How do you begin talking someone that you once knew, someone that really can’t talk back? How do you begin to speak with the  _ intent  _ to communicate with the dead? Deep breath. 

“Lou,” He croaks out. “Lou, I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know where you are, or how this works or why I should even believe this, but I think you found me. I just need something, I need you to do something and tell me you found me, please.” 

Wind outside blows on his neighbor’s windchimes. The sound pierces his ears. 

Harry draws his arms in, holding his tummy in the torso of the sweater. The sleeves lay limp. “Okay. Maybe you need a minute.” He clears his throat. “Maybe you don’t remember. I, uhm, I was with Ni today. Remember Niall? He’s been helping me a lot. I know- I know it’s been a while but sometimes I just need to extra push to get through every day, you know? But. I was with Niall today, we were at Monkey Joe’s. Remember that place? Y’favorite café. We were there and we were about to take a walk, the snow’s all nice. This la- this woman walked up to me, and she told me about you. Told me about you without knowing anything about us, about you and me. 

“And she told me you’re okay, wherever you are. That you’re happy and healthy and I- Lou, Jesus Christ, Louis I hope that’s true.” His eyes sting so bad and he’s trying so hard to pronounce everything clearly so Louis can hear him but he’s one hope from passing out. “I’m begging you.” He whispers. 

Harry’s waiting for the chills Erela told him about. He’s waiting for the sign that Louis has heard him and acknowledges him and still loves him, even from the afterlife. He’s waiting for flickering lights, wintry cold air, the movie screen stuff. He’s waiting for everything but he’s still got nothing. It feels like hours of sitting and waiting and waiting and sitting. And then he can feel his heart break. 

Louis isn’t going to show up. Louis isn’t going to say hi. Louis isn’t  _ here _ . 

 

He wakes up in bed, his head between his pillows, and a raw throat. Last night quickly became a blur of broken glass and holes in walls. He remembers screaming, but not how loud or how long. He remembers thinking he’d been lied to; lied to about the most important thing in his life, how could someone do him so wrong? More importantly, how could he be so foolish? 

Someone rings the doorbell and the sound reverberates around Harry’s skull. A tear slips down his cheek as he rolls over, trying to muster up the strength to sit. It rings again. Harry groans. “Just come in.” Once more. Harry sits up but before he stands, he hears someone cough. 

“Oh my god. Oh my- Jesus Christ, Harry? Harry, are you okay?” The floors shake under Liam’s feet and he’s pale when he gets to Harry’s bedroom, sputtering into his hand. “Harry, what the h- you’re a mess!” 

Harry laughs roughly. “Thanks, Li.” He stands, half naked and sore. “What are you doing here?” 

Liam looks at him from the corner of his eye. His frown is prominent. “H, mate, it’s past noon. You never called in.” Harry’s heart skips a beat and then stops altogether. “Have you been drinking?” 

Harry shakes his head, walking past Liam. “No, no.” He scratches his tummy and squints his eyes. His bedroom is quite dark compared to the rest of the house. “Of course not.” 

“Well, a Hip Sobriety party then? Your place is a mess, Harry. What happened last night?”

Harry stays silent. He barely has an answer for himself, let alone his coworker. The nothing digs at the bottom of his throat, pushing his tongue out of his mouth. It takes him seconds to slam the bathroom door shut behind him and kneel before the toilet, spilling all of what he hasn’t eaten. 

“God, Harry, are you alright?” 

Harry sobs. “I’m okay.” He pulls the toilet lid down. “Just give me a minute.” 

So Liam waits outside the bathroom while Harry cleans himself up. He fills the sink up with water, the coldest temperature he can get it to and dunks his head in, blinking a few times before coming up for air. He feels like he can breathe better now, like he knows now where and who he is but when he reaches out for the doorknob his heart sinks and he doesn’t want this anymore. He doesn’t want this life, doesn’t want to deal with it. 

He does though. He chokes back his tears, shakes his hair and opens the door, smiling at Liam. Liam’s frowning. Harry frowns. 

“You get back to bed, mate. I’ll straighten up what I can out there and call the office. Who do-” 

Harry blinks and grabs Liam’s arm. “No. What? Liam, I’m fine. Just give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll meet y-” But Liam shakes his head, pushing his back toward his bedroom. “No, Liam! I’m going to work.” Liam won’t stop pushing him, shaking his head, shushing him and Harry’s trying so hard to plant his feet. “Please. I’m okay, I need to get to work, I need to-” 

Liam stops, gripping his shoulders tight. His adam’s apple bobs. “Harry, I don’t know what you did last night, and I’m not  _ asking _ , but I am telling you that today is not your day. As a friend, I’m telling you to just  _ rest _ .” 

They’re staring each other in the eyes except Harry’s are wet. Is the room spinning? His brain is doing fucking cartwheels and there is nothing in his lungs. He can’t breathe. “Liam, please.” His voice cracks. “I have to do something,  _ anything  _ today.” He can’t be home today, no when he knows that he’s alone because he’ll  _ wait _ . He’ll wait for something to happen even though nothing will. He  _ can’t.  _

“You can sleep, H. Everything is fine.” Except it’s not. “One day off and then you can come back whenever you want. I’ll call someone to stay with you today. Who do you want?” 

 

Everything crashes down on him before he realizes what’s happening. 

Harry wakes up to blankets up to his chin and a cuppa under his nose. Liam helped him look for pants before he put him to bed, made a point of literally tucking him in, and then left after the living room was as neat as it could be. He’d promised to clear the work mess up, too. 

Johannah, Louis’ mother, was standing over him, tea in her hand, smoothing his hair away from his eyes. “Afternoon, love.” She smiles. “How are you feeling? Sick overnight, hm?” Harry scooches over and she sits. He looks around him. Louis’ sisters are here too, Daisy and Phoebe, the youngest. They’re on the floor watching something on Jay’s phone. The sight makes him smile. “Hope you don’t mind I brought the girls. School was out today, had no one to take them.”

Harry smiles wearily and pushes himself up to sit with his elbows. “No, no, that’s fine. Yeah, that’s fine.” His voice is rough. He kind of feels like he’s been smothered with gravel.

Everything is silent until Harry realizes the tea is for him. So he takes it and Jay looks at him, a bit sad. “Liam, your coworker called, said you just needed someone around today.”

“Yeah… I-” 

She shakes her head and pats his leg. “No biggie, H. I’ve got your back. Called your mum, told her what was going on, though.”

And then she leans back and for a while they watch the girls laugh at whatever they’re watching. Soon enough, they get bored and so Harry turns on the telly. 

The girls jump up on the bed and bury themselves under Harry’s arm, making his tea splash out of the mug. Jay scrambles to stand, yelling. 

“Daisy’s hungry!”

“No, Phoebe's hungry!” 

“No, Daisy said-” 

Johannah cuts them off short and looks at Harry. “Is it alright if I make them something to eat?” 

Harry nods, leaning over Phoebe to set his cup down. “No, of course! What time is it? Yeah, make them something. Use whatever you can find.” 

“You’re a saint, H.” Her bare feet slap against the wood as she leaves. 

The twins giggle as they sit up. “What do you think she’s going to make? Macaroni cheese?” And, God, Harry hopes he has a box of it in the cupboard because their smiles are so big thinking about it. They have Louis’ smile, except a couple teeth less. It makes his stomach flip a little. 

Daisy gasps and leans in like she’s got a secret.“Harry? Is this the bed that you and Lou slept in?” 

_ It makes his stomach flip.  _

Phoebe looks at him and her bottom lip trembles. Harry realizes she’s copying him. “Are you alright? It’s okay, Harry. Mummy says Louis is still here with us.” 

Harry knows they’re trying to make him feel better. He knows that they’re ten, they don’t know better, they just want to help. But Harry’s half way out of bed, pulling his knees up to his chest. 

Daisy smiles proudly. “Yeah! Sometimes I see him.” 

 

Harry finds himself sitting against a tree. His sweatpants are ripped at the ankle, he’d tripped on the way here. His sweater isn’t his, it’s too big. Might be Niall’s. Might be the one he stole from American Eagle when he was 18. The earth beneath him is damp. He’s holding a few strands of his own hair. He can hear the air entering and leaving his lungs and he can hear the pulse in his neck. He can’t feel them though. He’s not sure they’re there. 

A laugh bubbles up in his chest. It creeps up his throat and it sits on his tongue. It tastes like nothing. And when the laugh falls out in front of him, he swallows his fight and lets it. He lets more follow, too. 

Harry is sitting up against a tree, laughing and… This is it. This is nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> it took me too long to write this lmao  
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/pabalecki) :~)


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